


Ouran Resonance

by theungenue



Category: Ouran High School Host Club - All Media Types, Soul Eater
Genre: Crossover, F/M, Post-Anime, Post-Canon, Romantic Comedy, Shipping, Supernatural Elements, Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-16
Updated: 2014-07-08
Packaged: 2018-01-24 23:51:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1621493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theungenue/pseuds/theungenue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a kishin-egg starts terrorizing Ouran Academy, Lord Death sends a reluctant Soul Eater Evans to convince the Host Club to hire the DWMA to eliminate the kishin threat. Soul hates Ouran and everyone in it, but the Host Club becomes enamored with him and his relationship with his meister, Maka. As Tamaki and co. scheme to get the pair to admit their feelings, a more sinister threat lurks in Ouran's sparkling halls. Will the DWMA secure a contract with Ouran and eliminate the threat, or will Tamaki's endless shipping drive Soul up the wall? Animeverse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“DADDY BROUGHT THE LUNCHIES!”

Tamaki Suoh, President of the Ouran Academy Host Club and the son of the Chairman of Ouran Academy, was wearing loose, fashionably ripped trousers and a construction worker’s hat—a modest attempt at mimicking a blue collar worker.

“This peasant picnic is one of your best ideas ever boss!” Hikaru and Karou said in unison. Tamaki got into character and patted the twins on the head.

“The best.” Haruhi said dryly.

This wasn’t the first time Tamaki’s misguided attempts to empathize with Haruhi’s less privileged lifestyle left her unamused. His latest scheme was to dress like peasants and to eat peasant food outside—like the peasants do. After lunch, a game of kick-the-can would be initiated. Of course the food was of a higher grade than the local supermarket, and the picnic was taking place on the grounds of Kyoya’s estate rather than the actual wilderness. As long as Haruhi was present, the experience felt genuine. Tamaki and the Hitachiin twins were completely involved in this fantasy, while the other four remained more distant. They could have costume parties and picnics as much as they liked, but it didn’t hide the fact that the host club was uneasy.

Haruhi thought she heard a twig snap somewhere in the forest beyond the Ootori grounds. Unsure whether it was real or imagined, she gasped at the sound, prompting Mori to immediately jump to his feet. Honey, still clutching his rabbit, tensed. Kyoya calmly sipped his tea.

“Relax,” Kyoya said. “I’ve already taken precautions.”

“Your family’s personal police force?” asked Mori. He narrowed his eyes. “They weren’t very helpful last time.”

“If anything they’ll warn us if something is coming.” Kyoya said. He sipped his tea once more. “If this persists and the force is still ineffective, I’ll look into hiring professionals. My father advised that we exhaust all other options before publicizing our current predicament.”

During this exchange, Tamaki and the twins laid out the picnic food on the blanket. Tamaki bit into a peanut butter sandwich, consisting of gourmet peanut butter and freshly baked bread. He looked over at Haruhi, who was still staring into the void of the far away woods.

“Haruhi, you haven’t touched any food.” Tamaki said, concerned. Haruhi just shook her head.

She didn’t scare easily. Haruhi was willing to get in fights, to confront people who are bigger than her, to face the darkness when she needed to. Thunderstorms were a bit different, but apart from that Haruhi never was afraid of anything. She at least felt comforted in the fact that she wasn’t the only one shaken by these recent attacks. They all moved a little quicker, overreacted to sudden noises, though they always laughed it off in front of guests. Even Kyoya’s air of calm was a façade. Truthfully he was just as unnerved as the rest of them.

Haruhi exhaled, finally dismissing her anxious thoughts. She grabbed some food—fancy tuna at a peasant picnic?—and began to eat. She realized that Tamaki had been frowning at her for some time. Once she began eating he seemed to relax. The group began to share a very quiet picnic lunch. Tamaki and the Hitachiins weren’t quite so absorbed in their own fantasies after all.

Gun shots rang out in the woods. Birds abruptly took flight, and a fluttering stream of black and grey that rose from the forest like a smoke stack. As the birds scattered and voices began to yell, the host club sprang up and sprinted towards the house, leaving all of their food and belongings behind. Mori and Honey, after making eye contact and nodding, doubled back to head into the forest and help the police force. The twins held hands as they sprinted, terrified both of losing a brother and of falling behind themselves. Haruhi, who was never a very fast runner, was suddenly picked up by Tamaki. She yelled at Tamaki to put her down, for fear of slowing him down, but he shook his head. Kyoyo, who had already called his house, led them inside through the garage door. The door closed, and a symphony of bolts and locks sealing the house shut sounded through the house.

“But,” Tamaki said breathlessly, putting down Haruhi. “What about Mori and Honey-senpai?”

“They can handle themselves.” Kyoya said. He looked at his cellphone ruefully. “My own house isn’t safe,” He said. Exhaling hard, Kyoya began to dial a number and put the phone to his ear.

“Father,” he said. “I’m sorry to bother you at work, but there’s been another attack, this time at the mansion. Yes, we are in the house. The remains of the force should chase away the kishin egg shortly. But that isn’t enough. We need a professional meister and weapon to eliminate these kishin once and for all.”

* * *

  
“A _what_ club?”

“A ‘host’ club,” clarified Lord Death. “The Ouran Host Club is student organization specialized in extracurricular flirting. I don’t know why kishin-eggs are targeting a host club, but it’s your responsibility to protect the hosts and destroy the kishin. But there are some technicalities.”

Lord Death walked over to his mirror. His reflection blurred and the image shifted to that of a bird’s-eye view of school campus. Maka, Death the Kid, Black Star, and their weapons crowded around the mirror, catching glimpses of pink buildings, tranquil fountains, and endless gardens. Soul wrinkled his nose. He knew about Ouran Academy. He hadn’t actually been there, but he knew all about the prissy uniforms, the stupid pink buildings, and the insufferable rich people. It made the DWMA seem like a paradise, which was an odd thought considering how often Soul skipped class. He wondered who would even want to go to a school like that.

“That’s a school?” Maka said in awe. Soul rolled his eyes, unsurprised that Maka would like it.

“Such refined architecture and balanced landscaping! It’s art, pure art.” Kid exclaimed.

“It’s pink as shit.” Black Star stated. A large, cartoonish hand immediately descended as Black Star fell victim to the dreaded Reaper Chop.

“It is quite pretty,” said Lord Death sternly. Black Star lay crumpled on the ground while Tsubaki tended to his fresh head wound. “Ouran Academy is one of the premier schools in the world. Only the wealthiest, more powerful families can send their children to school there. But, being so rich and privileged, they are rather picky.”

Lord Death ushered his students away from the mirror. Spirit, who used his own experience with the Reaper Chop to help revive Black Star, stepped forward to further brief the students. He straightened his tie, ready to brief his dear Maka on the mission.

“The families involved with the host club want to hire professionals to deal with the kishin problem, but that doesn’t mean they will hired us.” said Spirit. “We need to send two representatives to convince the host club to choose the DWMA.” Spirit grinned cheesily and offered thumbs up. He directed his smile specifically at his princess, happy to look so professional in front of her.

“But the DWMA isn’t paid for its services. If the lives of these kids are in danger, isn’t it unethical to charge them money for their safety?” Maka said. Spirit voice dried up in his throat. A large hand lightly pushed Spirit to the side as Lord Death took over for his embarrassed weapon.

“No and yes!” Lord Death said in a sing-song voice. “We _aren’t_ paid for our services, and it _is_ unethical to demand money in return for the safety of their lives, but I’m certain they’ll generously donate to the school or city after a successful mission!”

Maka huffed indignantly, but to Soul it made sense. The battle with Asura literally uprooted Death City, and its restoration was slow and costly. Focusing on the recent plight of Ouran Academy and pandering to the wealthy families established there was a shrewd move on Lord Death’s part. Never underestimate the cunning hidden beneath that goofy mask.

“I’m sending all of you to Japan on standby, but I can only send the two most distinguished students as representatives.” continued Lord Death. He extended one large white finger. “The first representative I’m sending is my own son, Kid.” Kid shrieked and threw his hands into the air.

“Father you can’t send me with only one weapon!” Kid cried. “I’ll be too imbalanced to fight! Please, you must choose someone else!”

“Well Kid, neither of your weapons will represent the DWMA.” Lord Death said, interrupting his son’s panic attack. With his other hand he extended another large finger. “The second person is actually Soul Eater.”

Soul’s eyebrows shot up as his friends all stepped to the side, leaving him alone in the middle. He glanced back at the mirror, still portraying the serene gardens of Ouran Academy, and groaned. If he didn’t find a way out of this, it wasn’t gonna be cool. Death the Kid crossed his arms, very pleased.

“You’re right Father. I should take no weapons instead of just one. This is a much better arrangement,” Kid said. Kid’s weapons rolled their eyes. It was too typical of their meister to give symmetry precedence over practicality, or even safety. Meanwhile, Soul stuck his hands in his jacket pockets and scowled at Lord Death.

“I hate school, and I’m definitely too cool to be seen around that academy, even for a mission.” said a sulking Soul Eater. He suddenly grinned, flashing his sharp teeth. “Send a nerd like Maka, she’ll fit in fine.”

A book materialized in Maka’s hand, and Soul felt the skull-crushing force of her Maka Chop. He staggered to the ground, sporting a similar yet smaller bump than Black Star. Soul cursed himself. It was hard to reconcile his urge to ridicule and bicker with Maka with his desire to preserve his brain cells. Maka straightened her sweater and happily turned back to Lord Death.

“But really Lord Death, I’d love to represent the DWMA.” Maka said eagerly.

“I’m sure you would,” Lord Death said. He put his cartoonish hands together and began to proceed cautiously. “but you see, you aren’t exactly Ouran material.”

“What?” Maka said.

“What?” echoed Maka’s father, who poked his head out from behind Lord Death.

“I’m sorry to say this,” Lord Death began. “but I’m afraid you’re too common. You’re a very good student and meister, but if we’re to impress the host club we need representatives with connections and wealth.”

Maka stared blankly at Lord Death, both devastated and speechless. Her father whimpered. The two Albarns stood in a line, hunched over in mutual shame. A loud peel of laughter broke rippled through the death room. Black Star, it appeared, was completely revived.

“Looks like Maka is too poor and small for this mission.” Black Star shouted. “But I, Black Star, the biggest, strongest, and most awesome student at the DWMA, humbly accepts your challenge to go to that sissy-ass school and--”

“No, not you either Black Star.” Lord Death said. Black Star, interrupting mid-monologue, appeared to choke on his own spit. “You’re from the Star Clan, a particularly notorious family in Japan. It would be unwise for you to represent our school.”

Black Star joined Maka and her father, hunched over in shame.

“I wanna go to the pink school!” Patty said dreamily.

“Me too, Patty” Liz said. She crossed her arms. “But I think our criminal records put us out of the running for this one.”

This wasn’t good. One by one, each of his friends was being eliminated as possible replacements for Soul. He was certain that Maka could serve as a representative, but now he understood why it had to be him. As much as Soul hated it, the Evans family was extremely rich and influential. Famous for their musical genius, Evans’ have performed in ball rooms and galas all over the world. Soul’s older brother Wes was the latest prodigy to blossom on the Evans family tree. Soul, on the other hand, was either a late bloomer or a dud. Thanks to his weapon blood, Soul never had to find out which one.

Someone at Ouran Academy was bound to know the Evans name. But even if they knew who he was, who his brother was, Soul wasn’t going to suck up to any damn rich people.

Soul looked at his comrades. Maka was too common. Black Star came from a clan with a murderous history. Liz and Patty can’t pass a background check. Kid was already going on the mission. That left…

“Tsubaki!” Soul said triumphantly. He spun towards Lord Death. “Tsubaki comes from a very old and well-known clan in Japan. She lives in a mansion! Isn’t she distinguished enough to be a representative?” Lord stroked the bottom of his mask, considering the idea.

“Ya know, she wouldn’t be a bad representative at all.” Suddenly Lord Death was in front of Tsubaki, leaning over her inquisitively. Tsubaki was taken aback by the grim reaper’s sudden closeness.

“Whaddaya say? Do you want to replace Soul as a representative of the DWMA?” Lord Death asked.

“Well if you wanted me to of course, but if Black Star can’t go than I’d rather not. I’m sorry Soul.” Tsubaki smiled apologetically.

Soul hunched over in an extreme pout. This wasn’t cool at all, being sent on a mission to Ouran Academy, the epitome of wealth and upper-class sensibility. What’s more, Maka wasn’t even coming. He never had to do a mission without her, and he didn’t realize how depressing the prospect was. Soul tried one last plea to the grim reaper.

“But isn’t it a bad idea to send me and Kid without our partners on a mission?” Soul asked. “Kid can’t wield me, and I can’t fight alone. Isn’t all of this a little impractical?”

“Impractical? These are rich people we are dealing with!” Lord Death said. He brought back the image of Ouran Academy on the mirror. This time it zoomed in on students in the courtyard, all dressed in streamlined blue blazers or fluffy yellow gowns. They were reading on stone benches, playing croquet on freshly mowed lawns, and strolling about the elite campus with parasols shading them from the sun. Lord Death gestured wildly at the mirror with his large hands.

“ _Rich people!_ Isn’t it impractical to have a club whose sole purpose is flirting and frivolity? Or a rose bush maze on school grounds? Of course it is! The reason people go along with it all is because when you make a fuss, the rich people take a zero off your pay check. And I’m afraid after the business with Asura, the DWMA is in dire need of funding.”

“But Father, what happens after we visit the host club?” asked Kid.

“At that point, all seven of you will go in and eliminate the kishin threat.” Lord Death said. “All of you will be sent to Japan. Until Kid signs a contract securing the exclusive employment of the DWMA, the rest of you will be on standby.”

The students were dismissed.


	2. Chapter 2

An ornate pink door loomed above Soul and Death the Kid. They had wandered the grounds and halls of Ouran Academy for nearly an hour before discovering this room, quietly nestled in a corridor of the second floor. It was a remarkably inconspicuous headquarters for a highly visible and popular club.

Kid had enjoyed their exploration of Ouran Academy, but Soul wasn’t very impressed.

What use were extravagant gardens and fancy furniture if there was no substance beneath it all? Soul furrowed his brow. Or maybe the frills and glamor of Ouran was designed to conceal something sinister. The door to the host club—Music Room #3—looked like any other door. There was no indication that anything unusual lay beyond it, but Soul already knew that wasn’t true. There must be a reason kishin are attacking this club, and the extravagance of Ouran wasn’t going to distract him.

Kid, on the other hand, was enamored with Ouran. Standing in front of Music Room #3, Kidd carefully observed the door and put a finger to his chin.

“Do you think,” Kid asked, “there is a Music Room #4? This establishment has been very consistent in its design and symmetry, so I don’t believe they would just stop at #3. Yet, I don’t think I can confidently enter without knowing for certain that there is a Music Room #4.”

“Come on,” Soul said. Without giving Kid a chance to struggle, Soul pushed open the door.

Pink light blinded the two students, and a stream of rose petals spiraled out of the room. While Kid stood in the doorway in utter awe, Soul attempted to bat away the unending onslaught of flower petals. When the light faded and the petals ended their assault, they could see seven boys gathered around a chair in the middle of the room.

“Welcome to the host club.” The boys said in perfect unison. All of them, wearing the same crisp blue blazers and ties, and were positioned around the chair. One boy actually sat in the chair.

Soul spat a couple rose petals out of his mouth and wrinkled his nose. So this was the host club. They didn’t look like much, except for maybe a bunch of rich kids. One of them, a tall blonde with a princely demeanor, approached Soul and Kid. The blonde whipped out a rose—from where Soul did not know—and posed with the flower by his chin. The room appeared glitter behind him.

“Welcome,” the blonde said, his voice like soft velvet. “We’ve been expecting you all afternoon. My name is Tamaki Suoh. I am the president and founder of the host club.” Tamaki leapt across the room and ushered the visitors inside.

“I’ll introduce you to everyone.” Tamaki said. Running a hand through his blonde hair, Tamaki gestured to his fellow hosts. “The one in the glasses is Kyoya Ootori, our vice president. Next to him are the Hitachiin twins, Hikaru and Karou. Next to them are Honey and Mori, and in the middle there is our newest member Haruhi Fujioka.” None of the boys seemed to break their poses, except for the last one who did a little wave.

Everything Tamaki said flowed out of Soul’s head like rainwater, leaving the weapon completely clueless and confused. Kid, thankfully, was more on top of things.

“Thank you Tamaki for granting an audience with us. “ Kid said. “I’m Death the Kid, the son of Lord Death and a DWMA student. My friend here is Soul Evans, another student from the DWMA.”

Soul introduced himself by grunting. He wasn’t happy about his introduction as an “Evans,” but his wealthy name was important for the mission. If the host club didn’t think Kid and Soul reeked of old money, they might not hire the DWMA.

“Evans?” One ginger twin said. Soul could vaguely remember the twins’ names, but had no idea which was which. Both twins then spoke in unison. “Do you mean Evans the musical family?”

“He is the second Evans son actually.” The kid with the glasses—Kyoya?—said. “His older brother is Wes Evans, the famous violinist. He performed a concert at Ouran last year. He is quite the acclaimed musician.” The mention of his prodigious elder brother made Soul grit his sharp teeth.

“Do you play anything?”

The question came from Haruhi, the boy with cropped brown hair and expressive brown eyes. His face had strangely fine features. He could even say he looked girly. Soul was tempted to sneer at Kyoya—it was uncool that he brought up Soul’s family so quickly—but this Haruhi guy seemed genuinely interested in whether he played music or not.

“Uh yeah. Piano,” Soul said. “But I don’t do that anymore.”

Tamaki swooped in between them and hurled an arm around Haruhi, who seemed surprised and irked by the sudden contact.

“Oh Haruhi!” Tamaki said. He began to gesticulate wildly. “Don’t you know these are the demon hunters? He’s too busy running around and killing monsters to play music. Look at him! He is probably a kishin killing machine! But I can always play piano for you Haruhi!” Soul backed away from Tamaki to stand beside Kid. The blonde’s laughter and sing-song voice was making Soul feel sick. It struck him that Tamaki was eerily reminiscent of Maka’s lame, headache-inducing dad.

Ten minutes had elapsed since entering Music Room #3, and Soul could already tell this mission would be way uncool.

When Lord Death briefed them on this mission, Soul envisioned some type of business transaction. The host club was indeed a business, but its work took place on couches and coffee tables instead of inside a board room. Right after suffering through the initial introductions to the host club members, Music Room #3 was suddenly filled to the brim with silly women in bright yellow frocks. The host club was open for business regardless of the recent kishin attacks.

Soul sulked on a couch with his fists thrust into his jacket pockets. On one hand, seeing the host club at work was like being in a different dimension. Tamaki flitted around the room, gazing into the eyes of one girl and lightly caressing the jaw of another. Honey, the host club member who weirdly resembled a tiny child, played with toys as girls cooed over him. The other hosts moved around the room, flirting with one girl before moving onto another. It was weird, outlandish, and totally uncool.

But on another hand, the scene was also reminiscent of Soul’s childhood. Drinking tea, discussing the weather, complimenting each other’s outfits—it had all the makings of a classic Evans gala. All that was missing was the string quartet.

Kid was seated on the same couch, but deliberately positioned between the Hitachiin twins.

“There is no beauty higher than perfect symmetry,” Kid explained to a rapturous audience of rich girls. “These twins aren’t symmetrical on their own, but together they are a masterpiece. This is the only place in the room that I can sit and be at peace.”

“Who needs an identity when you could be half of one masterpiece,” piped the twin on the left.

“Well two is better than one Hikaru,” said the twin on the right. The brothers gazed into each other’s eyes, and the air appeared to sparkle around them.

“Two is company,” Kid said. He flashed his yellow eyes towards the girls and gently put his arms around each twin’s shoulders. The three of them were suddenly engulfed in roses. “But three is a crowd.”

Girls swooned. Soul choked.

“What the hell are you doing?” Soul whispered. Kid simply rolled his eyes.

“I’m playing along,” he whispered. “Everyone in the host club adopts a persona for the enjoyment of their clients. I decided to join the Hitachiin twins’ homoerotic romance as a mysterious third party.”

“You’re a natural,” Hikaru said. Soul’s jaw was resting on the floor. Death the Kid, the hypersensitive, obsessive compulsive son of a grim reaper, was participating in some sort of homoerotic threesome with twins he had only just met so he could impress the host club. This wasn’t even a joke he could have made up in his wildest bouts of madness.

“You aren’t making me do that!” Soul whispered fiercely.

“Listen, if we’re going to get this contract we have to impress him.” Kid jerked his chin towards Kyoya Ootori, who was writing notes in a clipboard. Kyoya, who seemed to sense the mention of his name, looked up from his work. The glare of his glasses obscured his eyes, but he was smirking—the face of a guy who knew he held the purse strings.

“If we don’t show Kyoya Ootori that we have something to offer, we won’t get a contract with the Ouran Host Club.” Kid said. “If we act without his signature, he’ll sue the DWMA and Death City into bankruptcy. For now, playing along is part of the mission.”

“Well I didn’t sign up for this,” Soul said. He hung his arms over the couch and looked away from Kid and the twins. He had an urge to whisper something to Maka, but tempered himself. She wasn’t here—she was in a hotel, waiting, along with the rest of their friends. He and Maka had their differences, but at least they were always on the same side, thinking with what sometimes felt like the same mind. If Maka were there, she would have liked Ouran at first glance, but this host stuff would have driven her crazy too. Then Soul would have had an ally in this madhouse.

Soul realized that during his reverie about his meister, he had begun staring into space in the direction of a few Ouran girls. They giggled amongst themselves and Soul felt a flash of heat spread across his cheeks. He jerked back and looked away, salvaging whatever coolness he had left.

Soul hoped the hosts would leave him to sulk in peace, but instead they did the worst thing imaginable.

“Hey everybody!” one of the Hitachiin twins yelled. He waved his arms towards the others in the room. “Come meet Soul!” Girls in yellow dresses flocked to the couch where Soul was sitting, tittering amongst themselves as they leapt onto the couch. The hosts strolled over as well. Tamaki, who had been entertaining some fifteen to twenty girls at once, suddenly found himself alone on the other side of the room.

“So Soul,” a twin said. Everyone was now crowded around the couches. “What’s the DWMA like?”

“It sucks,” Soul replied.

“I see. Do you fight a lot of monsters?”

“Yeah.”

“Uh huh.” Silence. Kid’s eyes were bulging, begging Soul to saying something nice or welcoming or anything other than flat, neutral, indifferent. Silence lingered, discomfort grew.

“Well this is disappointing,” Kyoya said. He was watching the spectacle from afar, clipboard tucked under his arm. Soul grunted, crossed his arms, and closed his red eyes. He wasn’t going to humor these prissy rich people, even if it meant screwing over the DWMA.

“Aw man,” the small host, Honey, said. “I thought that guy was cool or something…”

Soul’s eyes snapped open.

“Hey, I am cool,” He said. “I’m the coolest weapon at the academy. I’ve collected over a hundred souls. I faced down witches, werewolves, and even the kishin Asura!”

“But how do we even know that,” one of the twins said with narrow eyes. “We wanted to see a real live weapon, but for all we know you haven’t defeated any monsters. I bet they only sent you here cause you’re from a famous family.”

Soul leapt to his feet and grabbed the bottom of his shirt in his fist. “Is this legit enough for you?” Soul raised the front of his shirt up to his collar bone, and a collective gasp filled the room. Soul’s scar, a diagonal line of stitched flesh that extended from his hip bone to his shoulder, was fully exposed for the Ouran students to see.

“I got this while fighting a kishin-egg,” Soul said. He didn’t want to go into detail about Crona, considering how much the troubled meister had reformed in recent months. Right now, Crona was probably feeding Blair or cleaning up the apartment back in Death City. “My meister was cornered and our attacks were useless. When we were injured and had nowhere to run, I jumped in front of my meister to protect her from the final blow. And I'd do it again.”

Soul lowered his shirt and lazily sat back down on the couch. “I guess you were expecting some kind of show because I’m a musician, but performance isn’t my thing anymore. Weapons protect their meisters, even if it means dying for them. That’s all there is to it.” The Ouran students were speechless. Tamaki’s eyes had grown the size of saucers, and tears threatened to spill down his face at any second. The Hitachiin twins turned to Kid.

“I had no idea you guys were that close,” one twin said.

“Oh, I’m not his meister,” Kid replied. “Scythes are horribly asymmetric, I could never wield him. Soul’s meister is actually a girl named Maka.”

After a few beats of silence, the girls of Ouran Academy (and Tamaki) began to squeal.

“That’s. So. Cute!”

“What the hell—“ Soul’s voice was drowned out by the cacophony of squeals and laughter as the girls ecstatically talked to each other.

“He sacrificed himself so she could live! So romantic…”  
“And did you see that scar? He must have almost died…”  
“He’s willing to die for her—he really said that!”  
“Who knew a guy with a mean face could be so devoted—“  
“That’s so lucky, I wish I had a guy…”

Tamaki squeezed himself on the couch right next to Soul, who was feeling overwhelmed and claustrophobic due to all the attention. Tamaki touched his palm to Soul’s cheek, eyes brimming with tears.

“I had no idea,” Tamaki sniffed. “That being a weapon was so hard, that you would have to sacrifice your own body for the love of your life every day!”

“Love my life?” Soul balked. “Dude, it isn’t like that! Maka is just my partner!”

“What’s she like? How did you meet? Tell us Soul!” Voices were calling out to him on all sides. Hhis face hot and his soul quaking inside him, Soul couldn’t deny all of their allegations fast enough.

“You all have it wrong! Maka and I aren’t, uh, like that. We don’t even get along that much! Kid, tell them they have it wrong!”

Kid raised his hands in surrender. “Hey, I don’t know the details of your personal lives. The bond between weapon and meister is incredibly strong, especially those with soul wavelengths as synchronized as you two.” A sinister smile spread across Kid’s face. “Who really knows what you guys are like in private. I mean, you do share an apartment.”

The girls began to squeal again, and Soul choked more on his own spit. Not only was Kid was feeding him to the wolves, but he straight up lied by telling these Ouran kids about his apartment. For a long time he shared it with Maka, but Blair and Crona live there now too. Soul was beyond the point of keeping cool. He sputtered that he and Maka were completely platonic partners, but the embarrassment of even saying that much made him yearn for his partner.

“If you think that scar is bad, you should’ve seen Maka right after he got it,” Kid said, sipping his tea. His yellow eyes darted to Soul’s red ones—the jerk was definitely throwing Soul to the wolves now. “I’ve never seen someone so ridden with guilt. She could hardly look at him without bursting into tears. You see, she blamed herself.”

“No!” Tamaki, the twins, and Honey were enthralled. Haruhi, the large guy named Mori, and Kyoya remained distant.

“Oh yes. There is no pain more acute than to see someone you love get hurt on your account.” Kid said.

The girls began to titter again.

“Oh poor Maka and Soul!”  
“If I saw someone I loved get that hurt, I would feel guilty too—“  
“They’re like two tragic lovers, always brushing against death for the common good!”

“If you met her, none of you would be saying this stuff!” Soul said helplessly.

“What a great idea,” Kyoya said. The suave club vice president had been silently observing the scene from afar, but now he stepped forward. Girls and the other host club members stepped aside as Kyoya drew closer.

“Our session for today is nearly over,” Kyoya said. “You two should come back tomorrow. If Maka’s in town, we can get her a guest pass to the Ouran grounds. I’m sure everyone would like to see a weapon and meister pair in person, especially those with such…compatible souls.”

Kid stood and bowed. “Thank you, Kyoya. Maka will certainly accompany us. Hopefully we can also settle the rest of our business.”

Soul and Kid were escorted to the door by Kyoya and Haruhi while the hosts entertained the remaining women. Now that they were out of earshot of their clients, Kyoya spoke freely.

“I’ll draw up the papers tonight,” Kyoya said. “We can sign them tomorrow, if,” Kyoya locked eyes with Soul. “Maka comes along as well. If we like what we see, we have a deal.”  
The weapon and grim reaper were shuffled out of the room. The large ornate doors shut behind them with a loud slam.

“Good work today,” Kid said. He put his hands in his pockets and walked. “I’m sure we’ll have the preliminary part of this mission wrapped up by tomorrow. Then we’ll be free to spend as much time as we like hunting kishin-eggs.” Kid looked back at Soul, who hadn’t moved since being pushed out of Music Room #3.

Soul stared into space, dazed.

“What the hell just happened?”

* * *

  
“Are you guys sure this is a good idea?” Haruhi asked. The host club has closed for the day, and the visitors from the DWMA had left. Haruhi was confident in their abilities—they did represent the DWMA’s best after all—but the weapon, Soul, was not into the Host Club. At all. Turning him into the Host Club’s newest charity project seemed cruel.

“I see it as a win on all sides,” Kyoya said. “Out clients get a kick out of Soul and Maka’s love story, Tamaki gets a kick out of helping two lovers, the club profits off the spectacle, and the DWMA will gain some very rich donations from very well-connected donors.”

“And if Soul and Maka become a couple, they would probably thank us,” Hikaru said.

“Look,” Haruhi said. “We meddle in the love lives of Ouran students all the time, but these aren’t Ouran students! They aren’t being groomed to become the CEO of the family company. They aren’t even normal students like me—they risk their lives to keep the world safe from madness and evil. We shouldn’t play with them like this!” Tamaki flounced in front of Haruhi.

“But they need us!” Tamaki said. Tamaki grabbed Haruhi’s shoulders. “Maka and Soul can’t protect other people if they don’t acknowledge how they feel about each other first. You can’t leave that stuff unresolved without everything falling apart.” There was something weighty and meaningful in Tamaki’s voice, and Haruhi shakily exhaled as she looked into Tamaki’s blue eyes.

“But boss,” Karou said sheepishly. “Soul’s meister wasn’t even here. For all we know, maybe there is no sexual tension between them.”

Tamaki let go of Haruhi and raised his fist into the air. “That may be, but tomorrow we’ll know for sure! Death the Kid said Maka and Soul are synchronized--practically soul mates. We can’t just let them leave without falling in love!”

Haruhi crossed her arms. “Ok, you guys do what you want. I’m more concerned about the murderous demons that keep attacking us day and night.” The twins threw their arms around Haruhi’s neck on each side.

“Relax,” Hikaru said. “If the weapon and meister can’t handle us—“

“—Then they certainly can’t handle the kishin that are hunting us,” Karou finished. “Lighten up. We’re going to need your help for our plan.”

Haruhi sighed. “Oh, great.”


	3. Chapter 3

Operation Convince Soul to Embrace His Heart was underway in Music Room #3. Shortly after Soul’s departure from the Host Club, Tamaki concocted an elaborate plan to get Soul and his meister, Maka, to fall irreversibly in love in the span of one afternoon. Tamaki rolled out a chalkboard, which had “Operation Convince Soul to Embrace His Heart” scrawled at the top. Without further ado, Tamaki laid out the plan.

Kyoya was responsible for research and reconnaissance on the character, likes and dislikes, and associates of Soul Evans and his lady love, Maka Albarn. As the Host Club’s resident commoner, Haruhi was assigned as Maka’s guide and confidante. She was to monitor Maka at all times until Tamaki gave “the word.”

“So I’m being assigned to follow Maka around just because we’re both poor?” Haruhi asked incredulously.

“Don’t interrupt your father while he is speaking!” Tamaki said. The others gave Haruhi pointed looks, prompting her to cross her arms and sigh. Tamaki continued.

While Haruhi kept tabs on Maka, Hikaru and Karou were to distract Death the Kid and foster the illusion of privacy. Whatever unfolded between Soul and Maka would be watched by everyone (“We are a business after all,” Kyoya murmured), but the couple didn’t need to know that.

Tamaki announced that as the president of the Host Club, it fell upon his handsome shoulders to seduce Maka in order to heighten the drama and inspire jealousy and passion in Soul. It was this part of the plan that was supposed to convince Soul to embrace his heart, for what could motivate a man to declare his love more than the appearance of a devastatingly handsome rival?

Lastly, Honey and Mori were assigned as lookouts. Their official duty was to inform Tamaki when the DWMA students arrived, but they mostly just stashed martial arts weaponry behind the curtains and underneath the couch cushions—just in case something else turned up to visit the Host Club.

Shortly after class ended the next day, Kyoya arrived in Music Room #3 with a thick file under his arm. He neatly emptied the file’s contents—three folders labeled “Soul Evans,” “Maka Albarn,” and, most ominously, “Evidence”—on the table. The amount of intelligence Kyoya gathered on Maka in one night was alarming.

“Kyoya-senpai, where did you even get all that?” Haruhi asked.

“I have my sources,” Kyoya said.

“Is this a mug shot?” Tamaki exclaimed. He had picked up a photograph sticking out of the “Evidence” folder and stared at it with wide blue eyes. Haruhi looked over his shoulder—it was indeed a mug shot, and it featured a beautiful blonde sneering defiantly at the camera. The girl was holding a namecard in her slack hands. The small white lettering on the namecard identified the girl as Elizabeth Thompson.

“Soul-chan changed his name!” Honey exclaimed. He had begun rifling through some papers in the “Soul Evans” folder, and held up a scanned copy of a certificate. “He’s called Soul Eater now. Takashi, isn’t that cool?”

Mori’s expression remained steady and obscure. “Huh,” he replied.

“We found Maka’s school transcripts!” The twins exclaimed in unison. Hikaru waved a packet of papers in the air while Karou flipped more through the “Maka Albarn” folder.

“But it’s kind of boring because her grades are all A’s,” Hikaru said.

“Let’s return to the task at hand.” Kyoya said sternly. “We have a lot to cover.”

Kyoya snatched the folder out of Karou’s hands and laid out its contents. Paper-clipped to the top page was a photo a girl with dusty blonde pigtails and large green eyes. So this was Maka Albarn. The host club members passed around several photographs of her. Some shots were candid, but others were posed—who on earth supplied Kyoya with Maka’s personal photographs, Haruhi wondered. She examined a photo of Maka and Soul together. She was dressed in a long black overcoat, and was giving the camera a big thumbs up. Soul was beside her, smirking at the camera.

“They do kind of look cute together,” Haruhi murmured thoughtfully.

“She has a flat chest just like you,” Hikaru said to Haruhi. “You sure have a lot in common.’

“No boobs and no trust fund,” Haruhi droned. “We’re basically twins.”

Haruhi glanced at Tamaki and was surprised to see him staring at a photograph of Maka, eyebrows furrowed. His buoyant mood had dried up, and he adopted a tone of complete and utter seriousness.

“Hikaru’s right,” Tamaki said. “Maka’s supposed to be taking care of our kishin problem, but she’s the same size as you, Haruhi.” Haruhi took another look at the photograph in her hand. The girl pictured there was thin and leggy, and was actually wearing a mini skirt underneath her enormous jacket. The pig tails, flouncy skirt, and slender body didn’t exactly scream ‘kishin killer.’

“Hey, if this is going to be about how girls are too weak or something, you better cut that out,” Haruhi said.

“It’s not that she’s a girl, the problem is that she’s so normal,” Tamaki said. He slowly scanned the faces of the Host Club. “How can we ask someone as young and foolish as we are to risk her life like this? I mean, meisters are just regular people right? They don’t have superpowers like weapons and grim reapers. And Soul was saying yesterday that they almost died—”

“Do not underestimate Maka Albarn,” Kyoya said. He opened Maka’s file and thumbed through the papers before summarizing his report. “Maka is a two star meister and at the top of her class. Her skills include advanced soul perception, scythe mastery, and basic hand-to-hand combat. She is the daughter of a once-renowned weapon and meister team, one of which currently holds the position of Deathscythe. These records also indicate that Maka almost created her own deathscythe at age 13, but her souls were confiscated on a technicality. In short, Maka was clearly groomed to reap the souls of kishin-eggs since early childhood.”

Kyoya pushed his glasses up his nose, and light glinted of the lenses. “I don’t know if any of you noticed this, but Soul said something very interesting yesterday. Something concerning the kishin, Asura.”

Speaking the kishin’s name was like dropping a bomb in the room, only instead of a bang, the explosion erupted with all-consuming, reverberating silence. Asura’s rise occurred before Haruhi transferred to Ouran Academy, but the kishin’s madness and influence affected people from all walks of life. It was a dangerous time that no one liked to recall, so why was Kyoya bringing this up now?

Then Haruhi remembered. Yesterday, when Soul became flustered amidst the Host Club and all of its clients, he did mention the kishin.

_“Hey, I am cool,” Soul said. “I’m the coolest weapon at the academy. I’ve collected over a hundred souls. I faced down witches, werewolves, and even the kishin Asura!”_

“Soul said he fought the kishin,” Haruhi said. Her eyes met Kyoya’s. “And since he’s only a weapon, that must mean his meister, Maka, was there with him.”

“Honestly, I just thought he was making it up,” Hikaru said with a shrug.

“Well, the DWMA never actually made the names of the meisters or weapons that defeated the kishin public,” Kyoya explained. “However, judging by their impressive track record and association with the DWMA’s inner circle, I suspect Soul and Maka were involved in that fight. If that is the case, I don’t believe we will have anything to worry about at all.”

So Soul and Maka really were the real deal. Kyoya’s words floated in the room for a single beat before Tamaki’s blue eyes began to sparkle with determination. The King of the Host Club had finally rallied.

“Your mother is right!” Tamaki said. “We don’t need to worry about Maka’s suitability as a meister. All we need to do is lead her down the path of true love.”

Tamaki began to pace. “Now listen up men! We are dealing with a case of _extreme denial_ , so we must tread carefully. With enough provocation, Soul will have no choice but to embrace his heart and love Maka forever.”

“You seem to know a lot about denial, boss,” Karou said snidely.

“I am an expert in many disciplines,” Tamaki said. He walked away from the others and strode to the window. He placed his hands on his hips, and his silhouette was outlined by blue, cloudless sky.

“We have a few hours before they arrive,” Tamaki said. “Men, let’s start putting together our cosplay.”

* * *

  
“You’re doing it again,” Maka said with a frown.

“Doing what?”

“Not telling me something.”

If only there was something Soul could tell without feeling like a blubbering idiot. He could handle it when those Host Club creeps started sneering about his brother. Soul could even handle Death the Kid draping himself on those twins, though it did plant images in his mind that would haunt him for weeks. When those Ouran kids started questioning his coolness, his legitimacy as a weapon, Soul still felt like he was in control. After he stood up and showed off his badass scar, the faces of those rich bastards were priceless. They looked so wide-eyed and embarrassed, humbled even. No student at Ouran could break a nail without an entire staff of servants to help them, but Soul and his peers risked their lives all the time for the sake of their security. That moment should have been the wakeup call of the century.

Instead, through the greatest and most irrational leap of logic, the message “Soul Evans is cool” was interpreted as “Soul Evans is in love with his meister.” What?

Soul was so blindsided by this absurd turn of events that he could do nothing but sputter like a complete dork. Though, anyone should be allowed to stammer and stumble in that situation. Even cool guys like him. The amount of girls in swishy dresses seemed to multiply, and Soul could barely hear himself think over their squealing and chatter. The weapon might have been able to salvage the situation if Kid didn’t start egging on the Host Club’s rabid fantasy. After they left Ouran Academy the day before, Soul made sure to let Kid know exactly how pissed he was.

“Thanks for the backup Kid,” Soul had said bitterly. “Thanks a fucking lot.”

Kid chuckled. “Better you than me,” he said.

How all those rich bastards could spend so much time fawning over Soul when there was a freaking grim reaper in the room was a pure mystery, but Kid was savvy enough to not question it, the smug bastard. After only one encounter with them, Soul just knew that now the Host Club fixated on him, they wouldn’t let go until they had their fun. But using Soul for their perverse entertainment wasn’t the real problem—the problem was that Maka was also on the menu.

Maka. She was either going to implode with embarrassment or makachop him to death when she found out.

Of course, now that Soul and Kid were approaching Ouran Academy with Maka in tow, maybe it would have been smarter to give her a heads up. That way Soul would be too brain-dead to care what those Ouran kids thought of him.

It wasn’t that Soul was so awkward and socially inept that he couldn’t handle a little innuendo. He was friends with Black Star after all, and Maka’s dumb dad was always yo-yoing between “Don’t touch my daughter” and “Please, go ahead hit on my daughter.” The Host Club wasn’t covering any new ground. Soul could even comfortably admit (to himself) that the problem wasn’t that he found the idea of dating Maka degrading or repulsive.

Soul just hated that the Host Club had to be so damn flamboyant about it.

It was an intentional, calculated, and totally uncool ploy to set him off-kilter. It was like they were punishing him for not conforming to the rich kid mold. They probably thought his life story was some sort of tragedy. Soul could picture it: the second son of an affluent family struggles to live up to his older brother’s legacy. Suddenly he discovers that he is afflicted with weapon blood, and leaves the safety of his mansion to slum it up with a bunch of commoners as freakish as himself. Failures mount upon failures, and the hero dies in penniless oblivion.

Except Soul’s life was no one’s sob story. Discovering the scythe within his soul was the best thing that ever happened to him, second only to snagging Maka as a partner. And becoming a weapon was much cooler than a concert pianist. His old dreams died to make room for new ones. If that made him some sort of failure, Soul could live with that.

“If I had something to tell you, I’d tell you,” Soul said to his meister. Maka’s brow furrowed and she cast her eyes to the ground. They were walking through the Ouran grounds, passing by dazzling bush sculptures and fountains with every step, but Maka didn’t really seem as thrilled to see them as she did in the Death Room. What the hell was wrong with her now?

Soon they were back, standing outside Music Room #3. Soul placed himself between Maka and the door, and raised his arms in front of his face.

“Um, what are you doing?” Maka asked.

Soul grunted. “Just trust me.”

The door swung open and a flurry of rose petals spiraled out of the room in a burst of pink light. Maka squawked in surprise over Soul’s shoulder as the petals began to engulf them. A musician, somewhere, was intricately strumming a harp in time with the petals’ dance. Soul was prepared this time, and he swiped petals right out of the air before they could fly into his eyes. After one last blinding flash of light, the petals subsided and the Host Club appeared.

“Welcome to the Host Club,” They said in unison.

For some reason, they were all dressed in weird costumes. Half of them were in fancy togas, and the other half had leaves, horns, and other random shit attached to them, as if they were tree fairies or something stupid like that. The room was also decorated with flowers and large potted plants, creating the illusion of a forest within the room. Soul couldn’t really make sense of the scene, but Kid was a step ahead of him.

“Ah! Your costumes are magnificent. Such gorgeous detail and flawless design,” Kid said as he strode into the room. He clasped his hands together. “Let me guess—is the theme ‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream?’”

“Indeed!” Tamaki leapt forth, his toga fluttering around him. He made a beeline for Maka, and swept her up in his arms. Maka squeaked as Tamaki held her tight and dipped her so low her pigtails almost touched the floor.

“And you, my princess,” Tamaki said against a backdrop of roses. “You must be Maka. I’ve been waiting for you all my life.” Maka’s complexion deepened into a bright, enraged red. A strangled cough involuntarily emerged from Soul’s throat, and the others gasped.

“My skirt,” Maka whispered in horror.

Tamaki blinked. “I saw it, it’s lovely.”

“No,” Maka growled. “My. Skirt.”

Tamaki clearly did not bargain for Maka’s plaid skirt, which only reached her mid-thigh. Soul did not mind Maka’s outfit—she kicked in the faces of many kishin-eggs while wearing it, and glimpsing her long, smooth legs in both weapon and human form wasn’t exactly a punishment. The peep show that Soul, Kid, and the entire Host Club were treated to now was both far more enticing and more frightening. Maka was in Tamaki’s arms, her legs were in the air, and her skirt, in accordance to the laws of physics, had slipped far past her thighs. As much as Soul wanted to drink up the sight of Maka’s light pink underwear and exposed legs, he was more concerned about the bundle of pig-tailed rage that was bristling in Tamaki’s hands.

Tamaki reddened, dropped Maka on the floor, and then collapsed onto the floor himself. He started blubbering apologies and begging for forgiveness, his blush getting redder and redder by the second. The meister scrambled to her feet like lightning and whipped a textbook out of her coat. She raised it above her head, but Kid caught Maka’s arm before she could bring the book down on Tamaki’s skull.

“No, Maka, you musn’t!” Kid cried. He struggled to get the book out of Maka’s hand. “Soul, come help me!”

Soul’s shoulders heaved as he began to laugh. “Nah, he deserves it.” He stuck his hands in his pockets. If he could count on Maka for anything, it was to beat up perverts. Today had really turned around. The rush of affection Soul felt as he watched Maka wrestle her book away from Kid filled his ribcage like steam, heating his core and constricting his chest. The feeling was pleasant, but vaguely terrifying. This place needed more air conditioning, Soul decided.  
***  
Meanwhile, Tamaki attached himself to Kyoya’s leg.

“Mother!” Tamaki wailed. “I don’t deserve to be the president of this family! I’m a disgrace!”

“You’re a real pervert,” the Hitachiin twins said in unison.

“Now now, Tamaki,” Kyoya said calmly. “You just got carried away. It’s nothing a complimentary bouquet or gift basket can’t fix.”

“Senpai, you should really apologize,” Haruhi said. It was these words that finally stopped Tamaki’s whimpering. When Haruhi raised her voice, Tamaki knew to shut up and listen. “We’re supposed to make girls feel special, and all you did was embarrass her. It’s a good thing none of the other students were here to see that. You should be more careful!”

Tamaki sniffed and buried his face in Kyoya’s pant leg. “He will apologize, but I think first Tamaki needs to recuperate,” Kyoya said gravely. “Haruhi, Honey, Mori, you three attend to Maka and the others. We’ll get Tamaki cleaned up and ready for when our clients arrive. The operation will move foward, but brace yourselves.”

Kyoya looked back at Maka, who had wrestled Kid to the ground and begun to hit him with the textbook. Of all the women Tamaki had to enrage, it had to be the girl who fought Asura and lived. Less than ten minutes into her arrival, and Maka Albarn was already proving to be a most unusual client. Kyoya adjusted his glasses, causing light to flash across their lenses.

“Though she be but little,” Kyoya said. “She is fierce.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everybody who has read my work, left a kudos, or commented on this story. I really do appreciate all feedback! Next chapter contain way more Maka.


	4. Chapter 4

For such a rotten start to a pretty half-baked plan, Operation Convince Soul to Embrace His Heart was progressing. Sort of.

Tamaki was out of commission for a full forty-five minutes. For at least twenty of those minutes, guests began to file into Music Room #3. Once he returned to the Host Club floor, Tamaki began serve his clients as if nothing mortifying had happened to him. The only sign that Tamaki was not over what happened earlier that afternoon was his refusal to come within a yard of Maka. Haruhi swore she was going to make that coward apologize. Eventually.

Though Tamaki’s part in the Operation was a no-go, the rest was going smoothly. Since the Hitachiin twins were in charge of decorating the room in order to ‘foster the illusion of privacy,’ they turned Music Room #3 into a forest a la “A Midsummer Night’s Dream.” While Haruhi did not condone any of the Host Club’s nosey schemes, she was actually impressed with the Hitachiins’ ingenuity—the amount of foliage in the room was dense enough to make one feel secluded, but sparse enough that it was still easy to spy on people. Maka and Soul could be alone without really being alone. Plus, the trees and flowers sold the “magical forest of love” vibe.

Meanwhile, Honey and Mori helped smooth things over with Maka Albarn.

“Maka-chan!” Honey said. “I’m Honey, and these are my best friends Mori and Haruhi! You look much taller and prettier in person!” The sight of Honey’s cute smile and adorable rabbit caused Maka’s anger to melt away.

“Oh, thanks so much!” Maka said. She chuckled and scratched the back of her head shyly. “Wait, what did you mean by in per—“ Honey grabbed Maka’s hand.

“Do you like cake? Mori and I have a whole table of them!” Maka was dragged to the sweets table. Soul slouched sullenly before ambling after them. Haruhi supposed she ought to follow them too—she was supposed to be attached to Maka’s side after all.

Once at the sweets table, Maka was pleased to see all of her favorite desserts. Haruhi snidely commented on the coincidence, though she knew that Maka’s diet and taste in dessert was fully covered in Kyoya’s mysterious folders. Soul acted more suspicious than happy when he noticed a table of sushi was also present in the room. Most of Soul’s favorite foods were, as Kyoya explained, too “junky” to be served in the Host Club, but his taste for raw fish was more than welcome. Haruhi stole a couple bites of fancy tuna before leading the two to a somewhat secluded couch amidst the fake ferns and potted plants.

Kyoya, the Hitachiins, Honey, and Mori had all performed their parts. Tamaki’s portion of the plan went up in a blaze of lacey, light pink smoke. It was now Haruhi’s turn.

She poured a cup of coffee and handed the cup to Maka. “We heard a lot about you yesterday, Maka,” Haruhi said.

Maka’s eyebrow twitched and she glanced at Soul. “You heard about me, huh? Cause I didn’t hear anything about you.” Soul shrugged and draped his arms along the back cushions of the couch. Though they weren’t touching, the pair was sitting closely enough that Soul’s arm was basically around her shoulders. Whether it was intentional or not, Soul had just made the classic ‘arm around the chair’ move. Judging by the rustling of foliage and the giggling of nearby clients, everyone saw it.  
Well, everyone but Maka.

“So what did he say?” Maka asked. Her olive eyes were narrow. She raised her coffee to her lips. “I want to know,” she said before taking a sip.

Haruhi never did like to beat around the bush.

“Just that he would die for you,” she stated plainly. Maka suddenly lost her grip on her cup, causing coffee to slosh over the sides. The arm Soul strategically placed behind Maka retracted back to his side, and he started coughing into his sleeve. Maka unsteadily put her coffee cup to the side. The clients that were undoubtedly spying on them murmured quietly in the background.

“Dude,” Soul said after finishing his coughing fit. “That’s libel!” Maka lightly hit his arm.

“Slander, Soul!”

“Sheesh, alright. Slander.”

“Is something the matter?” Haruhi asked. “I thought that sort of devotion was normal between a meister and her weapon.”

“It is!” Maka exclaimed. “I just—I didn’t expect Soul to be telling you about any of that stuff. That’s all.” Being a host wasn’t always easy, but at least it taught Haruhi how to read body language like a pro. Maka was laughing way too much and too shrilly to be genuine. Haruhi had struck a nerve. Perhaps Tamaki and the others were right when they suggested something was going on between the two partners.

“Well, he had to explain the scar somehow,” Haruhi said.

Maka’s nervous laughter dried up instantly, and she turned to her partner. “You told them about that?” It suddenly occurred to Haruhi that maybe the event that caused Soul to receive that long, twisted scar was personal, even traumatic. She had to prod the conversation along in a romantic direction, but she had to be more careful.

Soul sharply exhaled through his nostrils. “They wanted to know what being a weapon was like, so I showed them,” Soul said. “It’s not like it was a secret or anything.”

“You took off your shirt? _For the Host Club?_ ”

“Not all the way! And who are you to talk anyway, Miss Pink and Lacey--” Maka snatched another textbook out of her coat--how many books did she have squirreled away in that thing?--and smacked Soul on the back of the head. He retaliated by tugging on one of Maka’s pigtails, earning him yet another smack with the textbook. If they start fighting in the middle of the Host Club, Haruhi thought, I’M going to be the one who gets in trouble. Alarmed, Haruhi leapt to her feet.

“I’m sorry!” Haruhi exclaimed. The two DWMA students stopped hitting and poking at one another to look at Haruhi. “I mean, I’m sorry about how Tamaki-senpai behaved today.” To Soul, Haruhi added “And yesterday too. This is just how we’re dealing with...” Haruhi searched for words that captured her meaning without blatantly stating it. “...all this stress. The others don’t show it, but we’re all freaked out. The way they’ve been treating you in the Host Club is just their way of--”

“Coping,” Maka finished. She dropped the book and glanced guiltily at her partner. Soul’s body relaxed, and though his expression was blank Haruhi caught his red eyes narrowing slightly, perhaps even sheepishly.

“I’m not really allowed to tell you much about it,” Haruhi said. Kyoya would add tens of thousands of yen to her already colossal mountain of debt if she revealed the details of their kishin situation before that damn contract was signed. Haruhi reached across the coffee table to touch Maka’s shoulder, and the meister sucked in her breath in surprise. “But I want you to know that we really appreciate that you are here. We just want to understand what you do so we know what we’re getting into.”

Maka quietly considered this. “Okay!” she said with a grin.

The meister suddenly became an open book, and a talkative one at that. When she wasn’t embarrassed or angry, Maka was very outgoing. Without prompting, she started lecturing Haruhi on the basics of soul resonance, how soul perception works, and how weapons developed into kishin eggs. Kyoya’s folders clearly did not encapsulate Maka’s vast intellect--they saw her grade transcripts, but Maka’s intelligence went much farther than that. She was a strategist, a problem solver, a seat-of-the-pants leader. She conjured facts and theories out of thin air as if she were reading from an encyclopedia instead of reciting knowledge on the top of her head.

Meanwhile, Soul was as engaging as a brick wall. Maka prevailed upon Soul to give Haruhi a demonstration of a weapon’s transformation (“You were totally fine showing him what it was like to be a weapon yesterday!”), but he refused to humor her. Harhui found Maka’s impromptu presentation on the basics of weapon/meister theory fascinating, but Soul remained bored and distant. However, she noticed that Soul’s eyes would often flick towards Maka, drinking in her animated mouth and energetic eyes as she explained exactly how, during battle when the adrenaline was high and and her blood pounding like thunder, their soul wavelengths could collide. Clearly, Harhui wasn’t the only one enraptured by Maka’s speech.

When Maka was finally left breathless from her own persistent lecturing, Haruhi attempted to return the favor and explain how the Host Club worked. She wasn’t doing the best job.

“We all have a request rating,” Haruhi explained. “Tamaki is an idiot, but he’s the best at what we do here. His rating is 70%, which is the highest out of the whole club. I, uh, have a score to settle with Kyoya, so I’ve been trying really hard to get more requests.” The abridged version of the truth was still the truth.

“If my extracurricular lessons were to convince people to flirt and talk to me, I would flunk for sure,” Maka said with a shy laugh.

Haruhi’s large brown eyes softened. “Why would you say that?” The air around Haruhi’s face began to sparkle. “You’re cute and you’re really smart. Why wouldn’t people want to talk to you?”

A light pink blush settled on Maka’s cheeks. She began shifting in her seat, smoothing out her skirt, and fiddling with the tip of her right pigtail as if she is suddenly hyper conscious of not of how she looked, but of how Haruhi looked at her. Soul scowled and looked in another direction. He was probably going for cool and aloof, but even someone with Tamaki’s powers of perception could see that he was feeling anything but cool.

Drat. A girl was developing a crush on Haruhi. Again. She wasn’t even trying to be charming. She was just being honest. This is probably what Tamaki and the others meant when they heralded Haruhi as a “natural type.” It was annoying, frustrating even, that Haruhi couldn’t have a conversation with anyone, of any gender, without being gazed at through long eye lashes and with demure smiles.

Guests from around the room were poking their heads over and around potted plants in order to get a better look at what transpired at Haruhi’s couch. They were whispering ecstatically. Oh, I get it, Haruhi thought with a groan. With Tamaki out of the picture, I’m the one who is supposed to flirt with Maka now.

“I’m gonna take a walk,” Soul announced.

* * *

  
Soul’s cool and calculated retreat was somewhat complicated by all the goddamn trees. He thought the sparkling, pink ballroom was an eyesore yesterday, but he would choose that a thousand times over this maze of foliage.

The secretly flustered weapon staggered through some plants and stumbled upon another cluster of of tables chairs all populated by Ouran students. They tittered amongst themselves and greeted him, but Soul could not distinguish their voices. Were they literally three feet away from him this entire time? How did he not notice? Did Maka notice? He should have known better than to assume the Host Club would give him or Maka an ounce of privacy. Soul ignored the girls and kept walking forward. He would find a wall eventually, and then he would find a window to jump out of.

He had only just escaped the first pocket of Ouran students when he stumbled upon another--this time a crowd them who were standing in a long, neat line. At the end of the line, Kyoya was swiping credit cards and recording names on his clipboard. Soul’s eyes trailed the long line of school girls before settling on what it was they were lining up for.  
Tamaki was lounging on a velvet loveseat with a female Ouran student. In his hand was a small, plastic scythe. With the other hand, Tamaki cupped the girl’s cheek.

“I would leap in front of a thousand swords to protect you from harm, my beloved meister,” Tamaki crooned. He waved the tiny scythe in the air. “With this blade, I am your weapon. With this body, I am your shield!”

“Tamaki!” the girl gasped. Soul realized with mounting alarm that the girl’s hair was styled into two poofy pigtails.

“Next in line,” Kyoya said briskly. The girl rose from the couch, a blush spread across her cheeks, and another took her place. The second girl’s curly hair was also styled into pigtails that flounced with each step. Tamaki took her hands.

“Don’t be afraid,” Tamaki whispered in the new girl’s ear. “If we are to defeat this madness, we must harmonize our souls. And our hearts!”

Soul’s face burned. This was all kinds of wrong. Wrong because Soul and Maka never have time for these tender moments on the battlefield, wrong because souls don’t ‘harmonize,’ and wrong because he even though he thought things similar to this in the past, he could never actually voice those thoughts without suffering an absolute partnership-dissolving disaster. Maka Albarn wasn’t the kind of girl to get involved with her partner, a fact Soul never challenged because a partnership on her terms was better than going back to being an _Evans._

Except now there was some dude batting his bushbaby eyes at Maka. Worse--after knowing the guy for all of fifteen minutes, the googly eyes appeared to already be mutual. It was like the moment some guy called her pretty, all the brains Maka spent her all whole life accumulating dribbled out her ears like melted wax. And it bothered Soul, it irritated him to the core. It just wasn’t how his partner behaved. That was the real issue here. Soul spent all day keeping his guard up around blue-blazered rich kids, but he didn’t anticipate his own partner turning heel on him in the middle of the mission. If he knew all he had to do to make that woman stop talking and start blushing was to say she was smart and pretty, he would have done that ages ago.

He stalked away from Tamaki, brushing past Kyoya and the line of girls, and headed back into the consuming flora. After a couple minutes of pushing his way through the room, Soul finally made it to a solitary corner. It seemed like a good place to chill and brood until his meister found him.

Maka faint eyebrows knitted together, though Soul couldn’t decide if it was out of anger or worry. “Soul, why did you storm off like that?”

“You nerds wanted some privacy, and I gave it to you,” Soul answered neutrally. “No need to thank me.”

Maka blushed fiercely. “He was just being _nice_. Haruhi is a nice boy--”

“Don’t tell me about it.” Soul murmured.

“--who is going through a lot right now. You should really stop being so rude for no reason. He’s just scared. Is it really so hard to just--” Maka stopped cold. This time, Soul knew she was definitely worried than mad.

“Can’t you just tell me what’s wrong?” Maka said with a quiet voice. “You’ve been so weird since coming here.”

“Dunno what you mean.” Maka smacked him behind the head. “HEY! There is nothing wrong, you crazy woman! You’re just jumping to conclusions again.”

“Soul Eater Evans, don’t you play dumb with me! You make me so angry sometimes, you know that?”

Their spat was interrupted by the sound of rustling leaves and shattered pottery. Kyoya was briskly crossing the room to their couch, shoving foliage out of the way and swing his clipboard underneath his arm as he went. His normally serene smile looked strained. More than a few clients yelped in surprise as Kyoya sent a potted plant or two crashing their way. Oddly enough, Kyoya did not seem to care about them at all. He stopped in front of Maka and Soul and tilted his body towards them.

“My personal security force has sighted a kishin-egg in the vicinity,” Kyoya said with a low voice. “They’re are keeping it at bay as we speak. I suggest you start doing the job we hired you for.”

Maka grabbed Soul’s shoulder. The grip was surprisingly tender for someone who claimed to be angry with him.

“We aren’t supposed to do anything until you’ve signed a contract right?” Maka said steadily. “That’s why we’re here, isn’t it?”

Kyoya pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yes, yes, the contract is being signed as we speak. Death the Kid just hasn’t finished initialing his portion yet.”

The host wasn’t exaggerating. On their way out, Soul spotted Kid hunched over a piece of paper, making minute strokes with a fountain pen. He didn’t have to write his full name this time--just his initials!

Unfortunately, their hands were tied. Maka and Soul sat beside Kid and twiddled their thumbs until the grim reaper finished struggling through the paperwork. By the time he was finished, the Host Club clients had left and Kyoya’s personal police force had chased away the kishin. Another false start. Kyoya gathered his friends for a Host Club meeting while the DWMA students looked on from afar.

“I guess it’s back to Death City already,” Maka grumbled. Soul was peeved to notice that Maka was actually bummed.

“Not quite,” Kid said. “While you were with the Hosts, Kyoyo Ootori finally made me privy to the details of their situation. It isn’t just one. They’ve already encountered at least three separate kishin-eggs, none of which were killed. There must be more in the area.”

“So we hunt ‘em down, take ‘em out, get back to Death City by tomorrow,” Soul said.

“Again, it isn’t so simple. Kishin-eggs are normally driven to consume any souls that come in their path. They don’t target specific victims, and they never work together.” Kid put a contemplative hand to his chin. “There is more going on, but we don’t have enough information. Ootori is still unwilling to let us in on the full story.”  
The Host Club was huddled around a red armchair, Tamaki sitting in the middle. Haruhi looked over his shoulder to cast an anxious glance at the DWMA students while the others spoke in hushed tones. Soul strained to hear, but luckily he didn’t have to. The brown-eyed boy’s attention suddenly snapped back to the group, and his voice raised considerably in volume.

“Don’t be stupid!” Haruhi shouted. His normally congenial voice was tinged with anger and irritation. The Hitachiins tried to grab his shoulders, but Haruhi shrugged them off to advance towards the Host Club president. “I don’t need any protection because I’m not the one that’s in danger here! You’re all worrying about me just because--”  
The six other boys hushed her in unison, and one of the Hitachiin brothers clamped his hand over Haruhi’s mouth. Haruhi struggled and put up a decent fight until the large guy, Mori, picked him up under his armpits and held him in the air.

“Sorry,” Kyoya said. It was purely a formality--his tone indicated that he wasn’t sorry about anything at all. “We were just discussing our arrangements this evening. We want a weapon and meister team stationed with Tamaki, the Hitachiins, and Haruhi. Unfortunately, Haruhi’s living situation isn’t really amenable to stayover visitors, you’ll have to station yourselves outside his building.”

Kyoya was issuing orders as if he were talking to some servants instead of the DWMA’s top students, let alone the son of Lord Death himself. Though, he probably did view them as the help. Soul and his friends were practically hired hands now, doing Kyoya’s bidding until he was satisfied and they could finally go home. At least, Soul thought, he didn’t have to be nice to them anymore.

Kid's hand shot up in the air. “I volunteer to keep watch over the Hitachiins.” Kid said.

“Huh? We get to pick?” Maka asked. She grabbed Soul’s wrist and held it in the air above their heads. “Soul and I call dibs on Haruhi!” Soul tried to yank his hand away, but he couldn’t escape his meister’s vice grip. How could such small hands be tender one minute and steel the next?

“I guess that leaves Tamaki with Black Star,” Kid noted. He crossed his arms and turned to Maka. “Should we warn him?”

Maka snorted and grinned. “No way. It’s the ultimate revenge.”

“Um, sorry?”

Tamaki, undoubtedly summoned by the mention of his name, had materialized beside Kyoya. He scratched the side of his mouth, blue eyes full of confusion. “Who is Black Star again?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. I've been trying to limit the perspective to Soul and Haruhi, but next chapter you're going to see some Kid and Tamaki. The next update should be along soon, so stay tuned!


	5. Chapter 5

Kid did not just get along with the Hitachiin twins—he adored them. They were perfectly symmetrical, perfectly synchronized. If they could transform into identical weapons, Kid would consider wielding more than one set. He could never part with Liz and Patty—having them with him at all times was as ingrained into his obsessive mind and heart as the number eight—but wielding more than one pair of weapons, especially a perfectly symmetrical pair, was an excellent idea.

However, Kid could never condone what the twins were doing now.

“You are not wearing that!” Kid screeched. “I’ve said it six times, and I’ll say it twice more. You are not wearing that!”

“Chill out Kid,” Liz said. “It’s just a skirt.”

The Hitachiin twins, it turned out, were the children of fashion designers. When Kid and the girls arrived at the Hitachiin manor to act as their bodyguards, it seemed like the night was a promising one. The interior design was perfection, and the designer clothes they had lying around were also beautiful to see and touch. Though a kishin-egg may drop in at any moment, Kid had no qualms with allowing a small game of dress-up to occur. But no sooner had the game started that the twins dressed Liz in that abomination.

The skirt was asymmetrical. Rather than having a uniform hemline like most rationally-designed garments, this skirt was longer in the back and shorter in the front. An absolute abomination of the crudest kind.

“You are not wearing that!” Kid screeched for the eighth time. “I’ll take it off if you won’t!”

“I’ll sock you _in one eye_ if you try anything like that!” Liz spat back. Kid gasped in horror.

“Asymmetrical hemlines are in,” Hikaru and Karou said with a shrug.

A peal of maniacal laughter filled the room, and Patty jumped out the closet. Her dress was short and tight, accentuating her rounder curves. Kid’s mouth went dry when he noticed the dress had only one strap.

“Patty, not you too!” Kid cried. He grabbed fistfuls of his own hair in agony and fell to his knees. All four of those traitors laughed, and Patty sauntered towards the twins. The neckline slung gaudily from a thick strap on her right shoulder before diving underneath her left armpit. It, too, was defying him with its putrid existence.

“I like this house and I like this dress,” Patty chirped. She looked at the twins and cocked her head to one side. “Can I marry one of you boys?”

“Hey! If Patty gets to be a trophy wife, I want to be one too,” Liz said with crossed arms.

If this startled the twins, they did not show it. “We’re actually only fifteen,” Hikaru said. “We’re not really in a position to promise anything like that.”

“Totally flattered though,” Karou added.

Liz bit the inside of her cheek and nodded. Patty grinned with a smile that was like a loaded pistol, dangerous and itching to shoot. “That’s ok,” The younger Thompson said in a hollow, metallic tone. “I’ll wait.”

The two girls picked Kid up and carried him into the twin’s enormous closet, rousing him from his stupor with the promise of dressing him in something stunning and symmetrical. Once the others were out of sight, the twins sighed in exasperation. Karou took his phone out of his trousers and flipped it open.

“It’s already 11:00,” Karou said. His fatigue shone through his voice as he looked at his phone’s caller ID. “And the Boss has been calling me nonstop.”

“Me too, but don’t call him back,” Hikaru said. “We have enough crazy to keep track of in our own house. Maybe if we’re lucky a kishin will show up and put us out of our misery.”

Karou nodded and dropped his phone on a chair. It bounced off the cushion and landed atop a frilly pillow. The two heard a crash and an outraged yelp within the walk-in closet. Sighing once more, the twins took each other hands and left to investigate what on earth those ex-con sisters and their insane meister were doing now.

After they left and turned out the light, Karou’s phone began to vibrate on the pillow. The name “Suoh, Tamaki” flashed on its screen, and the phone blinked in the darkness for several minutes before finally going still.

* * *

  
Soul saw Haruhi shut the blinds of his apartment window. He and Maka were stationed across the street with a pair of thin sleeping bags. Maka was using her soul perception to screen for kishin-eggs, but all Soul had was a set of binoculars. It was through these binoculars that Soul was keeping tabs on Haruhi’s apartment, but with the blinds closed he couldn’t even do that. As far as stakeouts went, this was pretty lame.

“See anything?” Soul asked with a bored tone.

“Nope.”

“Great.” Soul flopped on his back put his hands behind his head. If he couldn’t see anything, might as well look at the stars.

In a bizarre twist, Haruhi Fujioka turned out to be the only broke kid at Ouran Academy. To make things worse, Haruhi’s dad was too obnoxious and over protective to handle hosting two strangers in his home while monsters potentially hunted his child. While the others went to enormous mansions to play bodyguard, Soul and his meister were camping across the street as if they were homeless or something. If they were going to kiss up to Ouran students, Soul felt that they at least deserved a roof over their heads.

Maka shifted forward suddenly, causing Soul to scramble onto his haunches.

“What is it? A kishin-egg?”

“Not at all,” Maka said with a smile.

That damned Haruhi was crossing the street towards them with a bag in his hands. He was dressed in some stupid short-sleeved hoodie and a pair of shorts. Soul couldn’t trust a man in a short-sleeved hoodie. Hell, Soul lived in blazing hot Nevada and he still wore long-sleeved jackets and sweaters all the time. That was how cool guys dressed, even if it made him feel less cool in the literal sense. He had a reputation to maintain after all. Soul noted with gritted teeth that Maka actually seemed excited to see him.

“Hey,” Haruhi said. “I figured you guys might be hungry or bored, so I brought you some snacks.”

He unloaded some homemade rice cakes and sandwiches. They weren’t gourmet or anything, but Soul was hungry enough to feel a twinge grateful. Haruhi then pulled out a hardback book.

“Is that for me?” Maka asked.

“Yeah. You love to read, right?” Haruhi said. Maka nodded quietly and took the book from his hands. “Thanks for doing all this. I know the arrangements kind of stink, so you guys can go back to your hotel rooms if you want.”

“It’s no problem!” Make gave Haruhi a thumbs up. “We’ll be out here all night. No kishin are making it past us!”

  
Soul gritted his teeth and lay back on his sleeping bag again. Haruhi and Maka exchanged good nights and the boy crossed the street to return to his apartment complex. It was infuriatingly friendly. Maka began flipping through the pages of her book, humming as she went.

“How are you going to spot anything evil if your eyes are glued to a book?” Soul said.

“Soul perception isn’t the same as sight,” was Maka’s curt reply. After a couple beats of silence, Soul groaned loudly. He wanted her attention, but he also didn’t want to give those Host Club kids the satisfaction.

“It’s no problem,” Soul said with a high-pitched voice. His Maka imitation could use some work, but he continued anyway with his eyes closed. “No kishin are making it past us! Ha, you’re real pathetic.”

“That’s funny, coming from you,” Maka spat back.

Soul opened one eye to glare at Maka. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you’ve been rude and horrible for no reason ever since we got here.” Maka looked up from her book thoughtfully. “I know why, you know. Why you’ve been acting like this.” Soul shot up from his sleeping bag. “You do?” Did nothing escape Maka’s notice? Soul had only just figured out himself that his protectiveness of his meister wasn’t exactly platonic. No way did she deduce his repressed feelings--

“You don’t like Ouran Academy because it reminds you of your family,” she said. Soul halted his train of thought and cocked his head to the side in confusion. “All the ballrooms, the fancy food, the parties, you hate that stuff. When Lord Death made you a representative of the DWMA, he basically forced you to return to the world you left behind.”

“How did you figure all that out?”

Maka smiled cheekily at him. “I’m better at reading people than you think I am.” Her eyes returned to her book, and Soul laid back down on his sleeping bag.

  
Well, his meister was free to believe whatever floated her boat. When they first started this mission, Maka would have been completely right. Ouran Academy was the pinnacle of high society, and his parents definitely had ambitions of sending him their either as a student or a guest performer. But now, Soul was concerned about something else entirely. The way he saw it, his relationship with Maka was based on a very fragile equilibrium. Maka would hold his hand one day, and scream at him until her throat was sore the next. Soul would comfort Maka after she had a nightmare at midnight, and then pour ice down her shirt in the morning. Equilibrium. The Host Club was threatening to tip the scale, but they wouldn’t get what they wanted. Not if Soul had anything to say about it.

* * *

  
When Kid and Maka mentioned that some character named Black Star was going to be Tamaki’s guardian, they did not prepare him for this loud-mouthed, blue-haired beast. It was fortunate that Tamaki’s father was away on his business and his grandmother lived in her own mansion several miles away. The house staff was told to take the night off because Tamaki would not allow anyone to get hurt on his account if kishin arrived on his doorstep. If only he could control the rampaging monster that was supposed to be protecting him.

“That’s an antique!” Tamaki cried. Black Star was examining a genuine Chinese vase from the Ming Dynasty. The boy huffed and tossed it between his hands. Tamaki’s blue eyes were fixed upon the vase as Black Star carelessly passed it from one hand to the other.

“What’s the hell is the point having cool stuff if you can’t even touch it?” Black Star complained. “I thought this was a house, not a goddamn museum.” He lightly discarded it over his shoulder, the vase wobbled as it landed on its pedestal. Tamaki scrambled to prevent it from falling over, and exhaled a long, shaky breath when it finally stilled.

  
Tsubaki, Black Star’s weapon, was constantly bowing to Tamaki and uttering apologies. Tamaki felt rude for not exchanging pleasantries with the sweet and beautiful girl, but the moment he looked away to thank Tsubaki, Black Star was hanging from the chandelier.

“Yahoo!” Black Star yelled. He dropped to the ground and landed on his feet. “Tsubaki, we gotta get one of those. Then I could do crunches on the ceiling.”

“Uh, sure Black Star,” Tsubaki said. “Maybe right now we should do something else instead, like eat a snack.”

  
Tamaki could see why Tsubaki was Black Star’s partner—she seemed to know exactly how to assuage Black Star’s crazy impulses and steer him towards something less destructive. Like eating. After he ushered the two into his mansion’s kitchen, Tamaki watched as Black Star helped himself to the fridge and the pantry. He didn’t really care if Black Star ate everything, as long as the priceless items in his father’s home did not end up shattered on the floor.

The blonde leaned against his kitchen counter as Black Star piled food between two slices of bread. Tsubaki stood beside him, with her hands clasped in front of her hips.

“You sure have your hands full,” Tamaki thought aloud.

“Yeah,” Tsubaki said. “But everyone is like this though, in their own way. Black Star is just more upfront about it.” Black Star started shouting to no one in particular about the divine sandwich he just created. As the ninja attempted to fit the enormous sandwich in his mouth, Tamaki considered Tsubaki’s words. She was right—everyone could be a little overwhelming and exhausting sometimes. Did his friends think of him like that? Tamaki wasn’t exactly chaos incarnate, but he knew he wasn’t low maintenance either.

  
Tamaki started to consider this thought in silence, but was chilled by the realization that Black Star had actually stopped talking.

  
The ninja was suddenly standing on the kitchen counter, brow furrowed, legs spread apart in a fighting stance, a finger to his lips. Tsubaki also adopted a different stance.

“Why are we so quiet?” Tamaki squeaked. “What’s happening?” A beat of silence passed. “Should I call the po—HRMMF.”

  
Tsubaki clapped her hand on Tamaki’s mouth, muffling his whimpers and questions. The only sound Tamaki could hear was the steady ticking of a clock somewhere in his house. In his nervousness, he licked Tsubaki’s hand. This only made her grip his face tighter.

“Tsubaki,” Black Star whispered. “Ninja sword mode.”

Without a word, Tsubaki dissolved into a flash of light. The sensation of Tsubaki’s hand on Tamaki’s face disappeared instantly, and the light leapt across the room and into Black Star’s hand. Tamaki had never witnessed a demon weapon transformation, and he was transfixed. The blaze of light reformed into a sword. For someone whose fear of the supernatural was borderline irrational (it was upgraded from simply irrational to “borderline irrational” since the start of the kishin attacks), Tamaki found Tsubaki’s transformation to be quite dazzling and beautiful.

Black Star twirled the sword in his hand. “Blondie, go hide or whatever,” Black Star said. He then leaped off the counter and bounded out of the kitchen, leaving Tamaki alone. Black Star’s laughter echoed in the room for a few moments longer, then silence.

When he realized that Black Star had actually left and wasn’t coming back soon, a strangled cry emerged from Tamaki’s throat. He sunk to the ground, and crawled underneath his kitchen table. It was made of mahogany—that meant it was sturdy right? Hugging his knees to his chest, Tamaki fished his phone out of his pocket. Who should he call? He didn’t need the police, not even Kyoya’s personal police. He needed more weapons and meisters, and the only ones around were stationed at his friends’ houses. He dialed Karou’s cellphone number and put his phone to his ear. The Hitachiins lived nearby, maybe Death the Kid could come over. The phone rang four times before going to voicemail. His fingers hovered over the keypad. He could phone Haruhi, but the thought of Maka’s enraged olive eyes and the spine of her hardcover textbook made him dial Hikaru’s number instead. Four rings, voicemail.

Tamaki had heard nothing out of the ordinary before Black Star left, and he could hear nothing now. Maybe this was a false alarm, or even a cruel joke.

  
“Black Star! Tsubaki!” Tamaki whispered. “Are you guys still here?” There was no answer, not even an echo of Black Star’s booming voice. Tamaki dialed Haruhi—no Karou—once more and clamped it to his ear. He muttered under his breath “please pick up” so many times that the words blurred into one whimpering sound, but his mantra was to no effect. He dialed Hikaru and began chanting again, and the hairs on his arms and the back of his neck suddenly stood on end.

He had his phone up to his left ear, but something was tickling the right.

Tamaki started to heave. Something wet and slimey was touching, no, slithering all over his left ear. His eyes slowly drew left, but it took a lot of willpower to make his neck follow suite. As his head turned incrementally, the slimey thing traveled all over the left side of his face and mussed his blonde hair.

  
A man with a cracked hockey mask was licking him with its terrible, sand papery tongue. Its eyes bulged out of the mask’s eye-holes, and Tamaki could spot sharp teeth protruding from the bottom. Its figure was amorphous and covered in tattered clothing, with large disproportionate arms that had one hand on the table, and another on lying on the ground. This arm was in the shape of some type of blunt instrument.

Tamaki dropped his phone. His face was entirely wet, a mixture of monster saliva and his own tears. So this was how it was all going to end—underneath the kitchen table.

  
The creature rumbled in anticipation and shifted its weight on the balls of its feet. Tamaki reflected on his life quickly, braced himself for the inevitable strike, and squeezed his eyes shut.  
“YAHOO!” Tamaki opened his eyes in time to watch Black Star descend and use his sword—Tsubaki—to cut off the monster’s tongue. The creature screamed in pain, and the disembodied tongue dropped to the ground, wriggling like a tortured earth worm. Tamaki screamed and scrambled out from under the table. He staggered out of the kitchen and headed down the hallway. There must be a table he could hide beneath somewhere in this house.

Tamaki passed a small mirror mounted on the wall, and stopped dead at the sight of his reflection. He looked awful. Simply awful.

  
He heard a crash and a wail from the other room. Tamaki dove behind the first piece of furniture he found, but the monster was already in the room. Luckily, so was Black Star. The ninja moved with lightning speed, slashing the kishin-egg from all sides. With every blow he landed, Black Star congratulated himself and berated his opponent in a booming voice.

“AH HA! That hurt? Yeah it did! LOOK AT MY FACE! You can’t, I’m too fast! A star like me can’t be defeated by small guys like you! Tsubaki, let’s crush it!” From behind an armchair, Tamaki wondered which creature was going to destroy his house—the kishin-egg or Black Star. He peeked towards the battle, and Tamaki’s heart jumped to his throat.

  
That kishin-egg’s weird, curved arm was getting dangerously close to the Ming dynasty vase. The one his grandmother valued more than her own grandson.

“YO THAT’S AN ANTIQUE!” Black Star charged the kishin-egg. He planted his right foot forward, turned his heel, and impacted the monster with the palm of his hand. The kishin-egg’s body shook as if electrocuted before collapsing to the ground. Black Star leapt into the air once more dove blade-first towards the creature. With a sharp snick that sliced through the air, the kishin-egg was severed in half.

Something they don’t ever say in the newspapers is that when a kishin-egg or some monster is killed, its body just warps in on itself until there is nothing left. No corpse, no blood. Only a dark, glowing soul.

The sword in Black Star’s hand—Tsubaki, Tamaki reminded himself—became ink black and slithered to the ground. This sword/snake/shadow struck the soul like a cobra, and consumed it whole. As if this wasn’t already strange, the shadow thing burst into smoke. The newspapers never described anything like this, either.

“Tsubaki, how many souls we got now?” Black Star asked.

Tsubaki emerged from the cloud of smoke, once again in human form. “Two!” She responded excitedly.

Black Star beamed. “You’re going to be one bitchin’ Deathscythe, Tsubaki.” The ninja turned to his charge, who was still cowering behind the antique furniture. “We just saved your ass. You better bow to your god if you want to stay in my good graces.”

Tamaki numbly crawled to the blue-haired meister and began to kow tow at his feet. A monster was just killed in his house, in front of his eyes, and at this point, the thoroughly frazzles Tamaki would bow to anybody that protected him.

“I like this guy,” Black Star said to his weapon. “He’s a good listener.”

Tamaki was hugging Black Star’s legs and rubbing his face into his pant legs when Black Star shook him off. “Shuddup,” the ninja said. “I hear something.” Without a word, Tsubaki transformed back into a sword, which materialized in Black Star’s hands.

“Another something?” Tamaki squeaked. Black Star leaped away and dashed into the darkness, leaving Tamaki’s question unanswered.

The blonde crawled back behind the furniture and hugged his knees. Even if that something didn’t end up being another monster, Tamaki wasn’t going to sleep a wink. This was going to be a very long night.


End file.
